warning
by poisonrationalitie
Summary: Molly Eleanor Weasley is the youngest-ever attendee of the FLEW camp, and she won't let anyone forget it.


**A/N For the Hogwarts Forum, Term 11 Assignment 6, Mundane Literature: Highlights of **

**YA Literature - Task 2: Percy Jackson - write about a summer camp.**

**Warnings: Swearing, Bullying**

**Wordcount: 2250**

Darkness shrouded the cabins through the small hours of the night, which were still growing fewer as summer heightened. They were modelled in an American style, the entire idea of the camp stolen from the MACUSA programme in the United States. A soft swirl of rain came down, just enough to ensure the dew would soak through any early-morning walker's shoes, but not quite enough to make puddles. Each temporary home had a banner hanging from the front porch, crafted by its inhabitants in an early team-building activity. Most of them had learned to like one another, encouraged by the countless trials they were put through, and the fact that they were kept in such close quarters with no escape.

There was an exception. The youngest member of the Future Leaders of English Wizards (also known as FLEW) slept with her back turned to the other girls, even when they stayed up into the wee hours of the night. Her red hair was long enough to be irritating when she tried to sleep, scratching her jawline, but too short to be tied back and out of the way. She fell asleep quickly each night, well aware that her habit of going to bed early only emphasised the fact that she was a year younger than the rules had stipulated. In others' words, she had stolen the spot from someone older and more deserving.

Hands ripped her from her sleep. Molly sat upright, blinking at the other girls. They were crowded around her, all older, clad in pyjamas. Her eyes flitted between them, but in the dark, it was difficult to make out anybody for certain. From the number, however, she knew it wasn't everyone. _Thank Godric for that, at least. _

"You're only here because of your father," said one of them. "First years don't come to this."

"I got in on merit," Molly said, pursing her lips. "And I'm going into my second year. I'll be thirteen in December."

"It's not fair." The voice was recognisable. Her eyes found the face of Josephine Crabbe, a particularly annoying girl the year above her at Hogwarts. "We all had to wait. What makes you so special? I was going to be the youngest attending this year." Molly scoffed.

"It's not my fault I'm smarter than you were at my age."

"I am your age!" Josephine spat, voice squeaky. Molly eyed her distastefully. As the only other twelve year old at the camp, they had been paired together more often than not for activities, being the same height, though Josephine was fair and thin where Molly was red-haired and rounder. A frilly nightgown hung off her shoulders, with large, messy stitches spelling out the girl's initials on each shoulder.

"Look," said the tallest of them. She leaned over the edge of the bed, so close that Molly could smell her breath. One hand clamped around Molly's wrist. She winced.

"You're hurting me," Molly said, trying not to let the pain show in her voice.

"_Look." _At least Molly could get a good look at her face. She had small green eyes and a thin nose, with a prominent forehead. "We're not trying to bully you or anything, we don't get it twisted. We'd love to see you back next year. But you don't belong. You're only here because of your father - maybe you are bright, blah blah, whatever -"

"I am," Molly interrupted, tugging her arm from the girl's grasp. "I am bright."

"-and having you back next year would be awesome, _really, _but if you didn't have your connections, would you have gotten this?"

A lump formed in Molly's throat, but she swallowed it. She was surrounded by them. What they were saying wasn't true; it couldn't be. She had got straight Os in the previous school year, and Professor Mazoni, Professor Sinistra, and Professor Haywood had even let her do some second year work for extra points. Her marks had always proved that she was smart. How else was she meant to convince them, unless she mentioned her grades? What did they want from her? What did they expect her to do?

"Yes," she said.

"It was a rhetorical question," said the thin-nosed girl. "Sorry. You're only eleven."

"I'm _twelve,_" Molly corrected. Godric! It wasn't as if she was a little kid. She was practically a _teenager. _The thin-nosed girl snorted, and the others followed her lead. They were so pathetic. Molly knew what a real leader looked like, and it wasn't someone with a forehead the size of the Black Lake. She wished she could see all of their faces clearly. Then she could take them down, one-by-one. Her glasses sat on her small bedside table, which was being blocked by a figure clad in a putrid shade of pink.

"If someone goes home, someone comes to replace them. They don't waste the spot," Thin-Nose said. Molly tried to place her face. She hadn't got to know many of the girls very well. Who had a big forehead? Her eyes were starting to hurt. "Just go home. Say you're homesick. Nobody would judge you, you're so young."

"That doesn't make sense," Molly retorted. "I get along just fine at Hogwarts."

"Yes, but it's the summer," answered Thin-Nose. "Look, it doesn't matter what your excuse is. Just go home. Come back next year. There are plenty of other girls who applied and didn't get in and would love to. Helga, we're taking our O. next year, we actually have to think about our futures! This camp matters. You're just here - _why _are you here?"

"Weasleys always get what they want." A tanned girl pulled a face that Molly suspected involved an eye-roll, but she couldn't be sure. "Dominique's her cousin. I'm in her dorm. Girl knows how to throw a fit. Little miss here probably just came because she can." Molly's nostrils flared.

"I'm here because I'm going to be the youngest Minister for Magic!" she told them, hitting her fist against her mattress. "You'll be sorry for this!" Thin-Nose groaned.

"Yeah. Okay. Just go home, before we have to make you."

"Make me?" Molly spat, her voice acidic. Her heart was pounding. As much as she and Dominique fought, she wished her older cousin was her. She'd solve it. Or Victoire would give them all detentions, which would ruin them in the eyes of their Professors. Molly wasn't sure if you could get detentions for things outside of school, but she thought you ought to be able to. It was disgracing Hogwarts. But neither of them were here, and she was on her own. She had to prove herself. Or at least, dob them in to the camp leaders. Yes. That would show them. The leaders' cabin was across a small field, on the other side of the bonfire area. Molly just had to escape first, with her glasses. She would _not _be treated like this. She deserved better. It wasn't _her _fault their friends were too stupid to get in.

"Fine," she said. "Do you want me to do it now? And I'll need my glasses." One of the girls handed them to her. She slid them on, blinking, and her vision adjusted. The world became clearer. It was Missy, she realised, who was Thin-Nose. Molly recognised her as a rising fifth year Slytherin who had been bragging about being made a prefect since the owl came.

"I'll come," Missy said. "It wouldn't be right for a little girl to go alone in the middle of the night." Molly's jaw clenched, but she nodded.

"Well, this is boring," said Dom's roommate, Phoebe Evernever. "I was hoping we'd get to have a little fun. Get back on that bitch."

"Good one," piped up Eloise. "You'll be sure to earn points for our cabin and get a Ministry internship with that kind of language. No wonder we're losing."

"We're not losing," Missy corrected, frowning. "The boys our age are." They were beginning to disperse, and Molly swung around, touching her feet to the floor. If she could just write a letter to her dad, he'd know what to do. He'd told her before how cruelly he'd been treated in school, that people hadn't taken him seriously until he was older. The owls were kept in the leaders' cabin. She could do two things at once - get the girls in trouble _and _get a message to her father.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she nearly jumped. It was Missy. "Careful now," she said. "Poor thing." Molly shrugged her arm off and stood, folding her arms across her chest. Missy rolled her eyes, and headed for the door, gesturing for Molly to follow, which she did. She was seething. _You silly cow, _Molly thought. _You'll get it, you will. _They exited the cabin.

The night air was surprisingly warm. Molly tugged at her sleeves. The cabins were charmed to stay cool, and she'd become used to it. Two older boys sat in bonfire watch, minding the dying embers of the flame. A spell would've easily put it up, but the leaders said it encouraged responsibility and teamwork. Who was Molly to argue? They worked for the Ministry, after all, like she would, one day. Sometimes her dad said funny things about the Ministry, like to remember the people working there could make mistakes too, but she knew he was biased, because before she'd been born, he hadn't worked there for a couple of years when he was sick, and for whatever reason he thought it was the Ministry's fault. When she lead the Ministry, nobody would say anything like that about the people working for her.

"Please don't take this personally," Missy said, as they walked across the grass. Molly wouldn't look at her.

"How else am I meant to take it?" she asked. "You don't like me."

"I'm upset," Missy said. "One of my really good friends didn't make it in. She's applied every year, and she didn't get it. But you try on your first shot, even when you're not old enough, and they make an exception for you."

"I'm smart," Molly replied, nostrils flaring. "She must just be dumb." She gasped, nails digging into her shoulder. Missy was holding them tightly.

"Look, Molly, I get it, you're twelve. You're smart, probably the smartest in your year, which is great for you. But intelligence isn't the only thing that matters. You're not better than everyone else because you get good grades. Look, my friend, she gets EEs."

"No wonder she didn't get in," Molly sneered, ignoring the sharp sting of Missy's shiny nails.

"Yeah, whatever. But you know why she'd be an asset to the Ministry? She's a hard worker. She's diligent. She's kind. She's a good problem-solver. And I'm _sick, _sick of people like you getting privileges because your parents already work at the Ministry, or because your family has connections."

"My mum's a professor," Molly said. "And my family has connections because we're hard workers."

"No," Missy let go of her, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "My family's full of hard workers too! But you know what? We're good bricklayers, good plumbers."

"What?" Molly tried to keep her voice even, but her mind was whirling. What did those words even _mean? _

"My family has no connections in this place because we aren't purebloods. My friend's a muggleborn, and so am I. I get that you're a 'salt of the earth'," she made air quotes, "war heroes' niece, but you're a spoilt brat. We weren't nasty to you until you were nasty to us, and you can whinge all you want, but you came here and you put yourself into a thing with older kids, so you can't complain that you're being treated like we'd treat someone our age who behaved how you do."

"But you keep having a go because I'm young!"

"Because you're always prattling on about what a prodigy you are! You're insufferable! And yes, I do think you're taking an opportunity from someone older who deserves it, because this wasn't made for you. You can be the next Albus Dumbledore for all I care, and they wouldn't have bent the rules for you. But whatever, it wouldn't matter if you just acknowledged it!" Missy's thin nose was bright red.

Molly Eleanor Weasley was a good girl. She did as she was told, she got good grades, the professors adored her, her grandparents were never hard on her, her little sister looked up to her, she got given second year work and she was the youngest-ever participant in the FLEW programme.

"Fuck off," she hissed, trembling. She thought her legs might give way. The words were strange on her lips, and it was the first time she had ever sworn out loud. Missy blinked. And then Molly ran, ran as fast as she could, the tears streaming down her face, fingers shaking. She made it to the little magic-made stream that served as a border for the campsite and emptied her dinner into it.

"No," she told herself. "She's wrong. They're all wrong. I'm right." She grabbed a handful of pebbles from the water's edge. One-by-one, she hurled them into the water. "I'm right," she said, after each one _plopped. _"I'm right. I'm right. I'm right." Something burned deep within her mind, the feeling of Missy's words being scratched into the folds of her brain. "I'm right!"

But something felt so, so wrong.


End file.
